“Not me,” said Otero.
Joe tried to smile.
“Wait till you see the papers.”
Rico came over and leaned on the table.
“Listen, don’t they always play that stuff up in the papers. Courtney’s the only guy in the place that ever seen one of us before. Come on, snap out of it. And split the dough.”
But Vettori sat inert, mopping his face. Suddenly he asked:
“Where’s Tony?”
“He’s ditching the can,” said Rico.
“Suppose they pick him up?”
Rico began to open the sacks.
“That’ll be just too bad,” said Joe.
Rico laughed.
“A fine bunch of yeggs!”
Vettori got to his feet in a fury.
“You, Rico! Shut your mouth. You think I want to hang because you get yellow and shoot somebody.”
Rico, very calm, put his hand in his pocket and said:
“Sam, you get funny with me and you won’t get no split at all. Only a horseshoe wreath.”
“Oh, hell, Sam,” said Joe, “we’re all in it, ain’t we? Come on, split the dough.”
Vettori sat down. Otero stood a little behind him, watching. “Since you want it, Sam,” said Rico, his face pale and drawn, “you’re gonna get it. Listen, you split even, that’s all. Hear me! You get an even split.”
Vettori said nothing. Joe sat rigid, ready to dive under the table. For months Scabby had been predicting this break; now it had come. Joe feared Vettori and Rico equally, but something told him that Rico would win.
Vettori let his hands fall on the table.
“All right, Rico,” he said, “I split even. Sit down and we’ll divvy.”
But Rico didn’t move.
“You got a gun on you, Sam?” he asked.
Vettori looked up at him.
“Sure I got a gun on me.”
“Well, don’t try to use it.”
“No,” said Otero, “don’t try to use it.”
Vettori’s face went slack. He sat tapping on the table with his fat fingers.
“Rico,” he said finally, “I split even on the square.”
Rico’s victory was complete. Joe looked at him with admiration. Sam was a tough bird, but Rico was tougher.
Vettori got up, walked across the room and stood looking out the window.
III
Joe handed Rico a sheet of paper full of figures. Rico read: 9,331.75.
“All right,” said Rico, “split it five ways and we’ll make up Scabby’s split between us.”
Otero sat with his chair tipped back against the wall, smoking a cigarette with his eyes closed. Vettori was playing solitaire and swearing softly to himself.
Joe looked at his watch.
“Quarter till. I got to beat it. Say, Sam, call Carillo and let him get me a cab, will you?”
Sam heaved himself to his feet and called Carillo. In a moment the bouncer put his flattened face in the door.
“Three dicks downstairs, boss.”
“Who are they?” asked Vettori.
“Flaherty and two guys I don’t know, boss. They want to see you.”
Vettori stood looking at the floor. Carillo jumped in and shut the door.
“Christ,” he said, “they’re coming up.”
Rico leapt to his feet, ran across the room and opened a panel in the wall.
“Come on, Joe,” he said, “you can slip out the back way. Stay where you are, Otero, and go right on smoking. Send Joe’s cab around in the alley, Bat.”
Vettori looked at Rico.
“You suppose they know something, Rico?”
“Not unless they picked Tony up. You don’t know nothing, Sam, see? I’ll be right here listening, and if there’s any trouble, why, it’ll be tough on the dicks.”
Vettori scooped up the money, wrapped his coat around it, and handed it to Rico. Joe went through the panel, followed by Rico. There was a knock at the door.
Vettori nodded and Carillo opened the door. Two plainclothes men stepped in and stood looking around the room. One was tall and burly in a huge ulster; the other was short and very young. They both had their right hands in their overcoat pockets.
“All right, Carillo,” said Vettori, “go ahead. That’s all.”
“Wait a minute,” said the burly one, “tell Flaherty we’ll be down in a couple of minutes, for him to wait.”
“Sure, sure,” said Carillo.
He went out closing the door softly.
“Well,” said Vettori, “you want to see me?”
“Yeah,” said the burly one, who did all the talking, “we want to see you, Vettori.”
“Well, here I am!”
Otero opened his eyes long enough to look at them, then closed them again and went on smoking.
“Vettori,” said the detective, “we want some information.”
“Well?”
Vettori sat down at the table and began to shuffle the cards. “There’s a big Cadillac draped around a pole a couple of blocks down the street, and we just wondered if you knew anything about it.”
Vettori began to lay out a game of solitaire.
“How should I know anything about it? Ain’t it got no licence plates on it?”
“Sure, but they’re phoney.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. It was stolen about eight o’clock tonight on the North Side and we got a pretty good description of the guy that stole it.”
“Well,” said Vettori, “I got a good business. What the hell’d I be doing stealing automobiles.”
He laughed and shook his head.
“Oh, you got me wrong,” said the detective with elaborate innocence. “You see, it’s piled up right straight down the street from here and I thought maybe it was some of the guys from your joint, see? I mean some of the young guys that come here to dance.”
“Well,” said Vettori, “how would I know?”
The detective took out a cigar and began to chew on it.
“Wasn’t there nobody in it?” asked Otero.
“Yeah,” said the detective, “one guy. But he beat it.”
“I don’t know nothing about it,” said Vettori.
“Well, no harm in asking,” said the detective. “Come on, Mike, let’s get going. I guess Vettori don’t know nothing about it.”
The two of them walked slowly to the door. The big one turned. “Say, Vettori,” he said, “did you hear the news?”
Vettori looked up.
“What news?”
“Why, some bastard bumped Cap. Courtney off over at the Casa Alvarado.”
“Yeah?” said Vettori, “some guys are sure careless with the lead. That’s a tough
